


Occluded

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bellatrix Lestrange - character, Bloodplay, Community: hp_porninthesun, Draco Malfoy - character, F/M, Incest, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought she knew his fantasies when she reached into his mind, but he learned his lessons well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occluded

He had thought, when he was young, that the depths of his mind, the hidden, buried portions where daydreams and fantasies lived, would remain private. He had thought that, once. Thought that until Bellatrix Lestrange, his mad aunt, took it upon herself to teach him Occlumency. _You'll hardly need it_, she told him, with her long fingers smoothing over his hair and her long nails scratching at his scalp, _with those idiots who run that school. You'll never need to keep any of them out of your mind. But just in case, just on the off chance that someone there is not quite the moron that he appears to be, you must be able to guard your mind._ She cupped his cheeks and leaned in close, her lips against his temple. _Nothing will jeopardize your mission. Nothing, no one will jeopardize our Lord. Least of all you, nephew._

He'd thought those quiet, secluded concerns would stay his, and his alone, then Bella reached into his mind and brought them all up to brilliant, shining light, exposing his hidden shame, exposing his dreams of a dark-haired woman writhing and screaming under him. Draco remembered how hard she'd laughed, how she'd stumbled around the room with one hand clasped to her belly and the other raking through her hair, how she'd howled with laughter until tears streaked her face. _Oh nephew_, she said, giggling and snickering, her breath coming in snorts. _Oh my dear nephew. Should have known you'd turn out to be a pervert._

Draco kicked his blankets to the foot of the bed and smoothed his hands down his chest as he took a deep breath. Bella, dead for years, buried in a grave twelve feet deep to ensure she couldn't crawl out and restore her Lord again, with worms creeping from her nostrils and mud weeping from her eyes. Even dead, Draco still could hear her, still could feel her cold fingers groping over his scalp and probing into his thoughts. When she gripped his chin until her nails broke skin and blood dripped off his jaw, when her eyes locked on his, grey to grey, and she bored into his mind, it felt as though she'd opened his skull and left him exposed. She swore the lessons wouldn't end until he could block her out, until he could stop her from digging into his brain, until he could hold her back from pulling all his secrets forward, from seeing his daydreams and his hidden desires.

The lessons didn't end. Draco never kept Bella out of his head, away from his privacies, his fantasies. His secret, quiet fantasies, his dark and twisted daydreams. He'd tried to hide them from Bella, tried to hide them from himself, but Bella had laughed and laughed and stroked his cheek and purred into his ear. Then he'd stopped hiding them, stopped hiding from them, and he'd let Bella see exactly what she wanted to see, and she'd smiled at him, so brightly. _So proud of you, nephew. That's exactly what filth like her deserves. That is the absolute best she deserves. And when we've won this war, when you've proved yourself to be good and obedient, we'll see about asking our Lord if you may have her as your reward._

They'd lost the war, they'd lost their Lord. He hadn't been good and obedient. He'd never earned his reward, never earned _any_ reward, but he'd never lost those fantasies. He'd wanted it, wanted her. Wanted her desperately. Couldn't sleep at night from wanting to dream about her, from wanting to dream about what he'd do to her.

Bella had encouraged him, encouraged those dreams when she'd found them in his head. He never kept her out because he never wanted to, not enough. He showed it to her, everything, all that he wanted her to see. Bella understood his desires, smiled and laughed and praised him for his thoughts. She was mad, mad as only prison could have made her, but she'd turned his shame into a promise. She reached into his thoughts and caressed them like they were fine silk instead of filth. She'd prodded him and stroked every last one of those fantasies from a shapeless wish to a hardened desire. She'd promised him.

In the middle of the night, when clouds covered the moon and the owls left their roosts to hunt rodents through the forest, Bella came to him with promises of the rewards he could find if he simply obeyed. She perched on the end of his bed in the dorm and whispered to him as she brushed her fingers over the arch of his foot and around the curve of his ankle. He was at school, at Hogwarts, and they were only dreams, he knew, but such pleasant ones. Dreams where she crawled up beside him, her hair spreading across his chest to cover the scar Potter had left him, her breath warm against his neck as she exhaled those promises. In his dreams, his hidden and perverse dreams, Bella's thin body was a heavy weight against his side.

She told him it was good, what he dreamt about. Told him it was right, what he desired, what she'd seen in his mind. _Show her_, she whispered, her lips moving against his ear and her long nails tracing his collarbone and outlining his scar until his breath caught in his lungs. _Show her that her rightful place is at your feet, begging you. Show her that she is nothing, dear nephew, nothing but filth, nothing more than a receptacle for your needs, your desires. Use her as you please and dispose of her when you're finished. Throw her aside with the rest of the rubbish._

When Bella whispered to him in the night, when her low voice purred through his mind, Draco slipped his hand under his sheets and into the waistband of his pyjamas. His fingers brushed his hip, trembled through tight blond curls, wrapped around his cock as Bella murmured in his dreams. Blood and sex flowed from her lips and her words curled around his thoughts. Filth and rubbish and nothing more than hidden desires, and she belonged to him. She needed to learn her place. Draco rocked his hips and thrust into the channel of his cupped hand, cock slipping over fingers with Bella slipping through his mind.

He rubbed and stroked, his thoughts whirling and Bella's voice in his ear. He shoved his pyjamas down his thighs and tented his sheets up to give him room to move his hand, to hold his cock up and run his fingers over the length from tip to root. Foreskin drawn back to expose a blood-darkened helmet, bollocks lifted and rolled between his fingers and cupped in his palm. He rubbed his free hand down his chest, pressed on his sternum and the point of the scar at his hip, with his eyes closed tight, the lids squeezed together until they almost hurt. He closed his eyes and held his breath to better focus, to concentrate on Bella's voice. _That's it, nephew_, she murmured, her head on his shoulder and her lips against his jaw. _That's what you need to do. Put her in her place, put her on her knees._

Draco gasped and arched his back, dug his heels into the mattress and raised his hips, his hand pumping at his cock until his muscles bunched and he panted for air. His thighs tightened and his stomach hardened and he bit his lip to hold back a cry as he came. He spattered the sheet, spattered his thighs, and collapsed with his fingers warm and sticky.

It happened again and again, night after night, and when he returned home to the Manor for the Easter holiday, Draco could barely take his eyes from Bella, even as she could barely take her eyes from their Lord. When the Snatchers brought three teenagers into his home, his heart raced with Bella's laughter, and he stared at the dark-haired woman left in the middle of the drawing room when the two boys were dragged away. Bella shrieked and laughed, and Granger wept and screamed, and Draco felt his cock stirring in his trousers. Granger dropped to her knees with the pain of Bella's torture, blood staining her chin from her bitten lip, and Draco took a step closer, his hands trembling.

Bella took a step back, and another, her wand still pointed at the crying girl curled on the floor. She stepped back and Draco stepped forward, and the two of them met, chest to back, matched grey eyes focused on Granger. Bella held her wand steady and tipped her shoulders back, rubbing them against Draco's robes. "What do you think, nephew?" she asked him, her voice full of amusement and anticipation. "How familiar does this look? How _lovely_?"

Her height was almost a match for his, and Draco rested his chin on Bella's shoulder without any effort. "It's ... quite nice," he said, his breath stirring Bella's hair. He felt as though he needed to say more for her benefit, and he exhaled slowly in an attempt to steady his voice. "Beautiful." Bella leaned back, laughing still, and brought her empty hand up to pat his cheek. Her fingers were chilled but he tipped his head into her touch regardless, his eyes hooded as he looked at Granger, curled on her side with her hand clawing at the carpet, with tears tracking her cheeks. He turned his head until his lips brushed Bella's palm. He slid his hands to her waist and squeezed. She laughed again and did a little shimmy, her body twisting against his robes and her hair shaking against his chin. Draco whispered into Bella's hand. "Absolutely beautiful."

"_Yes_." Bella stretched the final consonant out in a hiss, and turned in Draco's grip to twine her arms around his neck. "Yes, nephew, very beautiful." She laid her head on his shoulder. Draco could feel the muscles in her cheek moving as she smiled, could feel her breath on his throat as she sighed. "What shall we do with her?"

So many ideas, so many things. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he'd imagined. Draco slipped his arms around Bella's waist and turned slightly to angle them both with a clear view of the woman on the floor. His mind raced as Bella panted laughs against his throat and he ran his favorite fantasies through his head, thought about the many dreams he'd had of a moment just like this.

First, he thought, he wanted to have her stripped naked, every inch of pale flesh exposed for him. Wanted her on her knees with her face pressed into the carpet, her long hair thrown over her head. Wanted her hips raised high and her cunt open to view. Draco licked his lips and drew in a stuttering breath as he shook his head. No. Not the floor. He wouldn't lower himself for this, wouldn't go to his knees for her.

He wanted her on the table, wanted her on her back where she could watch him. Wanted her where she could see everything he would do to her, see it in his eyes. He'd grip her ankles and push them back, her heels shoved into her thighs. He'd lean into her, between her knees, lean _over_ her until she looked into his eyes and had to _see_ him. Had to acknowledge him. She would learn her place.

Draco thought he would slip around the table beside her, stand near her head as he pulled his robes open and lifted his cock into view. He'd grip her hair, hold her head still, hold her hair tight until the pain alone forced her mouth open. He'd claim her mouth, push his cock past her lips and over her tongue, as he slid his free hand between her thighs and slipped two fingers into her cunt. He'd finger-fuck her as she mouth-fucked him, until her body answered even though he knew her mind would rebel. He'd wait, holding back orgasm, until her cunt was wet and open.

Then he'd fuck her. Stand between her thighs and grasp her hips so tight that he left purple bruises in her flesh, the marks of his hands on her skin. He'd pull her onto his cock, feel his bollocks slap against her arse, drive into her body over and over again. He'd show her what she was good for, _all_ that she was good for, and he'd put her in her place. He'd show her what she truly was, despite her delusions that she deserved more, that she was better than those around her. She wasn't. She was nothing, and she would learn that under him. He would fuck her until he was on the verge of orgasm, then he'd pull out of her cunt and stroke his cock until he spattered come across her thighs and stomach, left drops of come sparkling in the thick curls of her mound.

He'd finish with the same curse that had left him scarred and disfigured, and he'd cut her face until her skin and hair turned Weasley red. He'd slice into her skin and carve her, force her into a visage that no one else would ever want, make her into his own, his very own. He'd kiss her, finally, smear blood across her mouth and his tongue, seal them together with the only thing that had ever mattered. Blood. Hers and his.

Forever.

Draco groaned and bent his head to Bella's shoulder, gripping her waist tight as he thrust against her, his cock stiff behind his robes. Bella shrieked with laughter and pushed him away to throw another Cruciatus at Granger, dancing and shouting to him. "Remember this one well, nephew! I'll expect to see _this_ at our next lesson!" Draco went back to his chair and watched, stroking his cock through his robes and memorizing every detail. Hair flung back, arm extended, eyes shining and body twisting. Laughter rising and echoing, surrounding him and filling him inside and out.

He cherished that image, that fantasy for years, keeping it safe behind his Occlumency, just for him, and no one else, not even the aunt who died in battle before she could take another look into his thoughts. He'd never kept his aunt out of his head because he'd never wanted to. All he'd done was taken her lessons to heart. He'd shown her exactly what she wanted to see, exactly what _he_ wanted her to see, and it had all been so worth it to him. She'd gone to her grave thinking he dreamt of fucking Granger, and he'd let her think it. Let her believe in those dreams. It made him smile, and when he married a tall woman with long, dark hair, he gave her a series of affectionate nicknames as she willingly fulfilled the fantasies he whispered to her in the night. She stroked his hair and breathed hot against his neck, and she was _ma beauté_. She knelt to suck his cock, and she was _ma bien-aimée_. She held her cunt open and begged him to treat her rough, and he cried out her name when he came buried inside her. She knew her place; she belonged to him. His beautiful, beautiful _bella_.


End file.
